I've literally been waiting to write this chapter since I started this book.
I hope you enjoy.
- starr xx
"Have you spoken with him yet?" Ross hisses in George's general direction. George is tempted to pretend that he can't hear him, or that he doesn't know what he's talking about, but despite the fact that they're backstage, it's shockingly not that loud. So George simply shakes his head, turning his attention back to the drum pad he's practicing on. "So that's a no then."
"No...I haven't even seen him." George manages to shrug like it's no big deal, although he's actually borderline paranoid with worry over Matty. He can feel his shoulders tensing with fear at just the thought of him, and he wishes more than anything that Ross would shut up, or that Matty would show up.
"What's going on?" Adam asks, his gaze dancing in between the two of them warily when he notices the tension flaring among them.
"Nothing," George says.
"Matty," Ross answers at the same time.
Adam arches his eyebrow curiously. "Do either of you know what's up with Matty and why he's not here twenty minutes prior to show time?"
"He'll be here," John answers one of Adam's questions before George can.
George nods in agreement, although he's not nearly as confident as John. He wishes he could be, but the truth is, he hasn't spoken to Matty since last night. He's wanted to of course - god, he can barely go an hour without missing Matty, but he's keeping his promise he made to himself. He's going to leave Matty alone now, for good. All he's done is hurt him, and he doesn't deserve that - no one does.
George refuses to let his love turn into someone else's pain, especially Matty's.
That's not to say that he hasn't been keeping tabs on him, because he has. John had spent most of the day with him, during which Matty supposedly hadn't done much besides sleep. John had eventually left him approximately an hour before soundcheck after Matty had reassured him that he'd follow him to the venue soon, but yet here they are, mere minutes to showtime with no sign of Matty.
"Have you called him at least?" Adam asks when both Ross and George stay silent.
"Texted him yeah," Ross replies, "no response though."
"He could be sleeping again, he was pretty out of it most of the day," John adds in, his casual words stabbing George in the gut with a knife made of guilt although he knows that wasn't John's intentions.
"Matty won't miss a show," Adam states in a vaguely confident voice, "it's not like him."
George wants to say something in response, to alert his bandmates that Matty might not be himself right now, that perhaps George has broken him behind repair. He can't find the words to incriminate himself though, not in front of everyone. He will have to trust that Matty will make a timely appearance, otherwise, they're all fucked.
George does take out his phone discretely when everyone's attention is turned away from him, sending Matty a quick text asking him where he is and reminding him of the approaching show. A text isn't going to hurt anyone, at least, George hopes it won't. He doesn't get a response though, not that he's really expecting one.
George feels fragile as he pockets his phone, gripping his drumsticks tightly just to have something to do with his hands. His heart is pounding heavily in his chest, and he fears he's on the verge of breaking as each minute ticks by threateningly. George hates himself for causing all of this. He truly can't believe that he's risked destroying not only his friendship with Matty, but the band as well. His moment of weakness has resulted in so much more than he ever intended, and if he could take back everything from last night, he would in an instant.
~~~
Matty hates himself for what he's about to do, but at the same time, he no longer cares what becomes of him. He can't continue on in this way, he had decided this before, but now he's assured of his weakness. He needs drugs to survive; without cocaine, he is unable to cope with the myriad of emotions facing him, so he digs through his bags the second John finally leaves him alone, finding an almost forgotten eight ball of coke that had escaped his earlier purge.
Matty snorts a line without a second thought, his nostrils stinging and his eyes watering as he wipes at his face absentmindedly. He embraces the high that's already beginning to flow through his veins, but it's not enough. He still feels so empty inside - so broken. He needs to stop feeling anything at all, otherwise, he'll shatter completely. So he takes another line, and then another, until he has nothing left but an empty plastic bag and a trail of blood coming from his nose.
Yet it's not enough. Matty is still craving more, even as his mind spins with the force of his high. He digs into his stash of alcohol, but he knows that won't fill the void in him either. He needs to feel something besides this loneliness, he aches to devour a substance that will fill the gaping hole inside of him that's growing wider by the second. Matty is well aware that he's fucked up enough already, but he keeps drinking anyway. He shouldn't play a show like this, but the dark side of him is almost excited to. He wants to watch the world burn while he holds the match that started it all, just to erase the feelings of abandonment he's currently struggling with.
Nothing matters anymore; not the music, not his career, not himself. He just wants to be somewhere else - or maybe someone else. He can't keep being Matty, not without George, and George has left him, so he has nothing left. The logical part of Matty is pleading with the rest of him to call George, to find out if they still have a chance of repairing things, to beg for him to return, but his pride won't let him. He can take a hint, George had left him without a word after all, and if that's not a rejection, Matty doesn't know what is.
A dry laugh leaves his mouth when Matty reminisces on how he got here, which - honestly, he doesn't really know how it happened. He can clearly recall grieving the loss of Gemma not too long ago, but now he's falling apart all over again over someone else, but no...George isn't just another lover, he's so much more than that. He's everything to Matty, his rock, his solace, his - fuck, Matty doesn't know, but he does know he can't live without George, and yet he's successfully driven him away thanks to his horrible habits and his inability to be honest with himself without a foreign substance flowing through his veins.
Matty has ruined everything despite his best intentions, and he is well aware of that. He tried to stay clean, to be what George deserves, to morph himself into the person who would be worthy of George, but he's failed. He can never be that sort of person, he's proven that over and over again, but yet he has no idea how to continue on without George by his side. He's fucked no matter what he does, so Matty no longer cares about being responsible. So he drinks until showtime, not even bothering to unlock his phone which is vibrating constantly with messages from everyone except the one he's hoping to appear.
Still, Matty feels the need to perform though. If he has anything left, it's his persona, his stage presence, so he drags himself to his feet with a monumental effort of will. He feels like a modern-day Atlas, carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, or at the very least, the hopes of the thousands of people in this stadium. They came to see him, and although he might have let everyone else in his life down, he doesn't want to add his fans to that list.
~~~
The walk to the stage is ice-filled, that's how Matty recalls it. It's winter after all, and for some reason, this place has the air-con blasting in the hallways as well. The second he hits backstage though, everything is heat and warmth. He immediately unbuttons his shirt, becoming the Matty Healy everyone excepts of him even though he wishes he could hide in the confines of the floral fabric instead of exposing himself so intimately.
The show is about to start, Matty can tell that even without being told. His band members are exclaiming at him in a cacophony that his mind is unable to decipher, most likely wondering where he's been, but he doesn't answer. It doesn't matter anymore - he's here now.
The crowd roars as the lights dim. Matty nods to a stagehand as he presses a microphone into his palm, receiving a tiny smile in return from the young man. A small voice inside of Matty is pleading for him to turn around, telling him that he's not in any state to perform right now, but the logic in the statement is too minute. Matty is being controlled by a greater force. He lets himself be pulled by invisible strings, marching to the tune the world has composed for him. Everyone is here to see him, to watch the jester dance and sing for their entertainment, and he can't disappoint them.
George grips his shoulder briefly before they move into their predetermined places, his touch making Matty ache all over again, memories of last night flooding over him briefly. He forces himself to push them away before he can drown in them, tearing himself from the younger man roughly, otherwise, he knows he'll sink into his touch and it will all be over then.
"You okay?" George mouths, his lips turned down in a thin line that Matty wants to kiss away. He doesn't though, he just gives him the same nod he graced the tech boy with, a short, impersonal gesture that George doesn't deserve. He left Matty though, he fucked him and stole his heart then absconded with it, so he deserves coldness at the very least.
Ignoring everything else around him, Matty ducks out under the blinding lights, embracing the screams that follow his reveal. He immediately starts into The City, burying his emotions in the familiar lyrics that he knows better than he knows himself. He belts the song like he'll die if he doesn't, yet it still feels wrong - off somehow, but Matty keeps going. He can't stop now, if he does, he'll have nothing left.
At one point, a girl in the crowd screams "I love you" loud enough to be heard over the raucous cheers of everyone else. For some reason, her proclamation strikes a chord deep in Matty's soul. He lashes out verbally before he can stop himself.
"You don't have the right to love me, you don't even know me! I can love you, but you don't get to love me."
Matty grins foolishly once the selfish proclamation is made, his head swimming and his heart thumping in his chest as he immediately moves onto the next song before he can contemplate his rash words. He loses sight of the fan almost instantly, so he isn't able to see what effect his statement has on her.
After that, everything is noise and color. The world is blurring around him and he is spinning with it. If he stops moving, he'll collapse, but for now, he is one with the churning of the earth. It lends grace to his movements and a spring to his actions that is otherworldly in nature.
Eventually, he does fall onto the bench placed in front of the piano he is meant to play, his head reeling as he tries to adjust to being still in a room that still seems insistent on spinning wildly around him. He can't remember how he got there, but there's the phantom sensation of hands on his shoulders. He thinks Ross might have helped him over to his seat, but he honestly can't say for certain.
Matty wipes at his face absentmindedly, a glimmer of shock radiating through his brain when his knuckles come away wet. He can't recall crying yet...but maybe during Me he had? It's always an emotional song for him, but right now he's out of his touch with everything so he's unable to pinpoint his current state. He's just tired honestly - so fucking tired of all of this.
"I just want to go home..." Matty whispers, not caring that the microphone picks up his statement, allowing the entire crowd to hear it.
He still has a job to do though, so he starts to play, the words to Is There Somebody Who Can Watch You bouncing around his head as he finds the chords he needs. He doesn't want to sing this song, he wishes he could pull it from the playlist, but it's too late for that. The lyrics rip at his sore throat as they come out, tearing him apart piece by piece. This ballad of love and should have's is too much for him right now, and before Matty can stop himself, he's crying again.
He pushes through it though, taking a deep swig of the conveniently placed bottle of wine that's resting at his feet. For some reason, this causes the crowd to cheer at an obscenely loud level. Matty shushes them restlessly, hating that they are enjoying his pain, but also loving the attention all the same.
Matty manages to finish the song, and the next one, and the next one after that until the show is officially over. Matty can't move though, he stays on his knees where he'd fallen after the last verses of Sex, his chest heaving and his eyes squeezing shut in an effort to dispel the odd yellowish-orange color that's overtaking his vision. Tears are spilling past his closed lids, but he makes no move to wipe them away. Let them see - this is what they came for right?
And just when Matty thinks he's going to pass out, he feels strong arms around him. He doesn't need to look up to know that it's George helping him to his feet, because it always is. No matter what he's done, George is always there for him when he needs him most. He's safe now - everything will be okay - that's his last thought before everything goes black.
~~~
"Fucking hell? Is he alright?" a stagehand asks as George all but drags Matty backstage, his hands supporting the inebriated singer as they stumble toward the nearest seat which just so happens to be a random sofa surrounded by wires and mics.
"He's fine," George snaps back instantly, "he just needs some air."
"What's wrong with him?" someone else questions. George chooses to ignore them entirely this time, his entire focus drilled onto Matty.
His eyes are closed and his cheeks are damp with shed tears, but he's breathing evenly at the very least. George can't stand seeing Matty this way, especially not when he knows it's his fault, but he can't run from Matty now. He needs him - or at the very least, his protection. This entire debacle very well might be because of George's actions last night, so it's up to him to perform as much damage control as he can.
"I'm taking him back to the hotel," George announces once he is set on a course of action. "Make sure we aren't followed please."
"I'm calling you a car," John announces as George cradles Matty in his arms, making sure his face is hidden the best that he can without jostling the older man too much.
"Thank you," George nods gratefully, his own eyes stinging with tears when Matty hardly reacts at all to being moved. "Just hang in their love, you'll be okay," he whispers against Matty's curls, his lips pressing into his scalp briefly before he forces himself to move, his feet carrying him outside as quickly as they can.
George briefly debates on if he needs to call for a medic or not. Matty is obviously fucked up, but this has happened before, and they don't need any more bad press - especially not after tonight. George pauses outside the backdoor to the venue, clutching Matty tightly to his chest as he uses his free hand to check Matty's pulse. It thrums strongly under his fingers, and he's temporarily assured that Matty's life isn't in immediate danger. So he enters the black car that pulls up on the curb, directing the driver back to the hotel without once taking his eyes off of Matty.
"Can you hear me babe?" George whispers, letting the pet name slip off his lips without a second thought. "I need you to answer me if you can."
"Mhmm," Matty mumbles quietly. His eyes flutter briefly before shutting entirely again, his face falling into contentment as he turns into George's side.
"We're here," the driver announces before George can try to awake Matty again. He nods his thanks to the man, hoping that John will tip him for his services since he's not able to dig in his pockets right now.
George darts through the lobby of the hotel room as quickly as possible. He's suddenly very aware of his shirtless state, but thankfully the hour is late and the few people scattered around pay him no mind. He manages to make it back to his room without incident, his hold on Matty growing tighter by the second as if he can keep him safe with his touch alone.
"We're back in the room Matty, you're okay now," George tells him in a quiet voice.
"George?" Matty asks in a hoarse tone.
"Yeah, it's me. You're fine, I promise." George continues to ramble as he helps Matty out of his torn jeans and boots, leaving him in his boxers before tucking the exhausted man under the duvet. "Try and get some rest yeah? I'll be right here if you need anything."
"George," Matty repeats again, his eyes briefly opening, his gaze piercing into the deepest part of George's soul, "you won't leave, yeah? Please don't leave me."
"I promise, I will never leave you again," George swears, and this time he means it. He's not going anywhere, not unless Matty asks him too.
Just a few more months and I'll be fine
- starr